


{i believe that winter is tough, but spring is coming}

by moegan



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, One Shot Collection, basically this is a dumping ground for all of my one-shot bucky stuff :-)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moegan/pseuds/moegan
Summary: "I believe in process. I believe in four seasons. I believe that winter's tough, but spring's coming. I believe that there's a growing season. And I think that you realize that in life, you grow. You get better." - Steve SoutherlandA collection of drabbles and one-shots about Bucky Barnes & Co. Everything is Bucky x Reader but I never use the "Morgan" tag within my writing. Don't be afraid to request, or head on over to my tumblr at sargantbuck to request a prompt! Happy reading x





	1. battle armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REQUEST: Hi, Morgan!! Can I get an imagine about the reader being lonely and then Bucky swoopin' in to save her please and thank you!

Your favorite spot in the tower is the roof. It’s been that way since you first arrived. You were picked up off of the streets, attempting to make it in a world that was trying it’s hardest to screw you over.

Needless to say, you were a fighter. 

This is what kept you alive, but now it’s what’s keeping you separated from all the other people inhabiting the Avengers Tower. You found yourself resisting being assigned a training partner, walking around the mansion with only the echoes of your footsteps to keep you company. 

Of course Steven “Dad” Rogers tried his best to help you integrate into the team, but he wasn’t expecting your bristly behavior. You got along all right with Clint Barton, only because the hateful banter you had usually led to a physical fight, which you both enjoyed.

Natasha thought that maybe the two of you could bond, what with your somewhat shared life experience. She was taken and molded into something that she couldn’t recognize, but something necessary to the KGB. You were created by your surroundings - growing up without a home, without a family, without a purpose.

Sam Wilson would attempt to talk you into poker night every once and awhile, but not often. He understands, you think, because one time you recall Steve mentioning how he met Sam. Maybe he could help you cope, but you’re tired of being told what’s wrong with you and how a bottle of pills and some exercise and fruit can help you “get better”.

Tony Stark never attempted to bond with you, he just tried to wheedle you with sarcastic words and booze. You refused the alcohol, for obvious reasons, and you’d always bite back much more hateful speech. 

Bruce Banner tended to stay away from you. You know why, but it still is satisfying. You’re too volatile for him, and that makes you smirk. Some people are easier to push away than others. Scott Lang is a thorn in your flesh. He thinks that his background in _prison_ is a good sharing point for mutual storytelling. You’re sure to roll your eyes and tell him you never actually spent time in prison because you were _that good_ at running away. 

Which left the last of them, the _actual_ runaway.

Bucky Barnes.

He never approached you, never attempted to make conversation. If anything, you actually _liked him_. He understood you. He got what you were feeling, you could tell every time he’d catch you walking the grounds alone.

You’d heard about him, but didn’t care enough about his sketchy background to make it a point to weasel in and find out every last detail. He was experimented on, he did some bad things, now he’s seeking redemption. Easy enough.

So that’s why, when you’re on the roof that night at four thirty-seven in the morning, counting the stars, you’re surprised to hear the mechanical whirring sound that usually leads to Bucky’s entrance.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks you, his voice far away. He’s on the other side of the roof, a good twenty feet away.

You shrug, tilting your head as you find the constellation Orion in the skies. A chuckle parts your lips, “Sleep and I aren’t the best of friends.”

You hear his footsteps coming closer and you resist bristling your shoulders like you usually do when you’re jumping out of the quinjet. He doesn’t sit too close to you, a good five feet separating your hips. 

He grips the edge of the roof with boths hands, but the cybernetic one is the appendage closest to you. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ve always been fascinated with it. You’re sure he hates it, with the way he avoids doing _anything_ with it. He even concentrates on using his right hand when training.

“You give Steve nightmares,” Bucky speaks gruffly. “I don’t think I’ve seen him so deep in Psychology books.”

Another shrug drags your shoulders up and then back down, “I’ve added a bit of challenge into his life, what can I say? He could use a little extracurricular activity in his life.” Bucky rolls his eyes, a small smirk tilting up one half of his mouth.

“I think I’ve done enough of that myself, to be honest.” He folds his hands together on top of his thighs, looking down at the metallic fingers laced with flesh. “Steve deserves a break, you know. He’s the youngest one here, other than Wanda. I kind of feel bad for the guy.”

You sigh, “Is this a therapeutic session, or what? Did Vision send you over here? He swears that I’m emotionally unstable and capricious.”

“Cut the crap,” he snaps at you and you’re surprised at his tone. The hairs on your arms stand straight up, your shoulders tensing at the sudden change in atmosphere. Bucky snorts in frustration through his nose, “You’re a stubborn mule, I get it. You don’t want to let anyone in because you’re afraid you’ll hurt them. Or maybe it’s because then they might actually _care_ about you and because you’ve never had anyone who cared about you, you’re scared of what might happen. Maybe, suddenly, they _won’t_ care for you anymore.”

His eyes are steely when he glares at you. His hair is tucked back in a bun, you notice, and he’s strikingly handsome when he’s being assertive. You find yourself smirking, “Oh, so you know me so well, soldier?”

A little bit of guilt drips onto your shoulders when you see him tense at the mention of a word that has such negative meaning in his life. Instead of giving way to it and apologizing, you bite your lip and shake your head.

“You can’t even let your best friend, the one who has cared for you for almost one hundred years, back into your life. You can’t let Natasha help you through anything, when she spent a long time with you, being your _partner_ .” You huff a laugh out, the devilish grin still painted on your lips. You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting directly with his, unwavering. “And you’re going to sit here and lecture _me_ on _my_ people skills?! That’s comical, James Barnes, _really_ rich coming from you. I don’t think you’ve spoken five words to me since I got here six months ago.”

Bucky chuckles sarcastically, looking up at the sky. You take that moment to glance at his profile. He’s got a strong jawline and a prominent nose leading up to a dark brow and light eyes. If you were any other girl looking for any type of male presence, you wouldn’t mind Bucky Barnes and his incessant behavior.

“You think I want to talk to _you_ ?” he shakes his head and you’re almost offended. “You, who has honestly probably made Steven Grant Rogers _cry_ with frustration and loss of self-purpose?” Bucky licks his lips and pauses a moment before drawling on, “You’re a time bomb, and you think _I,_ of all people, want to be in the way when you explode? I think _not_.”

To stop yourself from gnawing a hole in your lower lip, you speak, “Oh, I’m _so_ offended. If I was looking for a therapist, Barnes, I’d totally come to you.”

“You’re so dense,” he rolls his eyes, “if you don’t understand.”

“No, I understand _perfectly_ ,” you stand to your feet and he follows suit. “You’re bored and you want something to do, so you figured you’d terrorize the new kid.” A chuckle splits your mouth open, “You’ve been alive for so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually _live_.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, his chest inflating, “I know you better than you think. And I actually came out here to give you some company, I wasn’t planning on harassing you.” He sighs and you notice there’s a proximity to your bodies that leaves them leeching the heat off of one another.

“I spent my life having people kept from me, wiped away like a clean slate every time their memory returned to me,” his voice is softer now. “I spent my life being alone, after they turned me into this. Maybe I’m not the best at following my own advice, but I know that you can’t be alone forever.”

“Oh,” you quirk your head and for some reason you remind Bucky of a puppy. “And are you going to keep me from being lonely?”

Truthfully you can’t take your eyes off of his pretty cerulean irises or those full, pink lips he’s been blessed with. He’s distractingly beautiful and you wouldn’t mind his company. You’re shocked at your thoughts, but he has a point. And he read you like a book.

Maybe he could help you.

“If you want me to,” Bucky answers and you notice his hand is trembling by his side. You hope he’s aching to touch you, but you know better. No one here wants to hold you like you’re falling apart. He swallows and you watch as his Adam’s apple rakes against the front of his throat, “I know you don’t like the idea, but I’d love a sparring partner who isn’t afraid of eating metal.”

You nod, gnawing on your lower lip in thought. No matter how much you like to say that you keep yourself away from people for _their_ good, you know you also do it for _your_ own good. You don’t want to get attached. 

“Okay,” you nod finally. “Bright and early, Barnes.”

He nods out at the sunrise, “I think we’ve got that covered.”

  
So you stand, close enough that if you breathe deep enough your chests brush, with James Buchanan Barnes. And you wonder to yourself if maybe one of those shattered pieces inside of your chest has melted back together like the metal covering his left arm.


	2. reinvented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REQUEST: Bucky request! Kinda fluff, I guess. He and reader go to a summer concert in the park with old-timey and classic music. He's running his fingers along her to the music and she realizes he wants to dance..

It’ll be fun, they said.

You’ll have a great time, they said.

If anything else, it’ll have good food, they said.

One of the three statements above was correct. And the quiet of your stomach should give way to the answer as to which.

So here you are, at eight o’clock at night, at a concert. Steve was all about getting you guys involved with the community in order to make you feel _normal_ , whatever that word meant anymore. A concert on the water was the perfect opportunity for that, he believed.

You weren’t so sure.

It’s beautiful outside, the stars out and the stage is far enough away that you aren’t blinded by the bright lights. There’s a cool breeze that makes you wish you would’ve grabbed that light jacket on your way out the front door.

Come to find out, the band was one that reminded Steve of the music played in the forties, a throwback night. You can’t shake the idea of a barber shop quartet and silent movie soundtracks from your head, although this is entirely different than you’d expected.

Everyone else is paired up and dancing: Clint and Natasha, Wanda and Steve, Tony and Pepper, Thor and Jane.

And yet here you are, alone.

You’ve been with the Avengers since you were eighteen and reckless. Natasha was the one to train you, to help you harness the skills you’ve had for a while. Both Nat and Wanda understood you, the different facets of you, and so you have come to rely on them.

One more that you have come to admire: Bucky Barnes.

You knew him from the legends and the tales you heard spoken in whispers down hallways, echoed in gutters and alleys. He was a myth, a legend, as far as you were concerned.

Until he showed up at the Tower’s doorstep.

Apparently he and Tony had a mild _disagreement_ , but that’s all Tony or Steve will say. But you can see the way that the newest recruit keeps his distance from the billionaire. You always wished that you were more social so you could help him cope better, but instead you always stand afar and look on.

Which is why you’re surprised to feel the heat of his body sidling up next to you on this very night. You notice that he keeps his body on your left, his right, so his metallic limb is as far from you as possible.

“I--uh,” your voice is high-pitched, proving your discomfort.

You relax when a chuckle exits Bucky’s full lips. A smile and blush adorn your features as he nods towards the band with his lip tucked into the bite of his teeth. He waits a moment, leaving you in unfair suspense, before speaking.

“Back when Steve and I used to go dancing,” he starts, and you’re surprised to hear so many words from the man of silence, “this is what the music sounded like. A little faster, I imagine, because you always had to keep the girls on their toes so you could impress them,” a gentle huff that resembles a laugh, “but upbeat and happy.”

Turning to him, you nod. You allow yourself to take in his appearance while he’s focused on the band playing on the stage a couple hundred feet ahead of you.

He’s breathtaking, honestly. You’ve always known that. His eyes are striking and you’re unable to forget the bluish-green hue they posses. He has lines of worry and anger and strife written into his skin, permanently etched. But there are lines of expression that are indicative of smiles and laughter, ones that you see more often recently. His jawline is sharp, leading the way to marble cheekbones and a strong brow.

“Steve was the worst dancer,” Bucky muses, looking over at his best friend dancing with the younger teen, making her laugh despite the circumstances.

Finally you get the courage to nudge him and speak, “I hear you were quite the charmer, though.”

Instantly the stone-cold soldier goes red at the comment. At first you’re confused as to whether he’s being apprehensive or embarrassed. The little snort of laughter that follows your comment allows you to be privy to the answer.

“I didn’t have much competition,” he responds, tilting his head in your direction. God, those _eyes_ , especially when they were looking at you. The intensity of them is almost unbearable. You smile and he swears he sees stars, “Now I’m not so sure.”

A shrug pulls at your shoulders and you find your head bobbing along to the newest song the band is playing. “You’re still handsome, Bucky, just in a different way now.”

There is silence then, after you speak, and you swear you’ve said the wrong thing. Anxiety crawls up your spine and webs into your skull like spiders taking over your body. Little butterfly wings flutter against the insides of your ribs where your heart should be and you think if you were to open your mouth they’d fly out in a frenzy.

“How do you mean?” he questions, his brows pulled together in thoughtfulness.

Swallowing, you conjure your response. “You know, my parents used to tell me that I could re-invent myself as many times as I wanted to.” A smile crosses your lips, “When I was really young, I wanted to be a ballerina. And then, two weeks later I wanted to be an artist. One month after that, it was a baker.” You laugh in nostalgia, tossing your head back to gaze up at the stars like maybe your parents are somewhere out there looking after you now, giving you the words to say.

“My mom would never question it, never tell me that I couldn’t do something. She’d just make me up a costume, let me use her as a puppet or a guinea pig, and then we’d move on to the next thing.” You pull your knees up into your chest so you can wrap your arms around your shins and rest your head on the tops of your legs. “And they both died, yeah, but I will never forget their willingness to push me to embrace myself, whatever version of myself that was. Baker, painter, ballerina, school teacher, _spy_.”

Bucky is staring at you now, eyes boring into you like he can’t help but listen. You don’t have the super power of persuasion, so you know that isn’t the case. He is just genuinely _listening_ to you.

“I hope maybe you can see yourself that way too, James,” your voice is softer now, more serious. Maybe he’ll be mad at you for going out on this limb, maybe it’s none of your business, but the way all the wrinkles on his face have melted away, you’d guess otherwise. “I hope you can create a new person who is still _you_ , but different. Someone you can accept.”

“And what if I can’t do that?” he questions ruefully, a sadness engulfing his blue irises.

You smile and relocate your chin to his shoulder, looking up at him in boldness, “Realize that other people already have.”

In a contemplative way, he stares at you. It’s almost as if time has stood still, reality melting away. The only thing you can hear is both of your heartbeats, equally as fast, both nervous. You never falter though, never stop smiling, because maybe that’s what this man needs in his time of doubt. He just needs _someone_ , and maybe someone new.

Bucky raises his eyebrow and smirks and you feel like a pane of glass has shattered. He nods out at the crowd and then takes the hand of yours that is sitting behind his back and pulls it into his grasp. He doesn’t hold it, though, does not clutch it like an anchor. Instead, he traces patterns into it and pats the pads of his fingers against the soft skin.

After the initial shock of _Bucky touching you_ wears off, you realize that he’s tapping along to the beat of the song that’s being played on stage.

A new kind of grin, an innocent and excited one, tugs your lips north and you suddenly find yourself dragging the man to his feet. He looks surprised until he notices where you’re going, and then he looks apprehensive.

“So, James,” you simper and he swears it looks like a little bit of an angel has gotten into your grin, “who are you going to be?" 

You feel his cybernetic appendage grasp your waist like you’re made of glass and his opposite palm made of flesh lace into your own fingers. Breath mingling, eyelashes fluttering, he smirks, “The best damn dancer you’ve ever met.”

And oh, how right he was.


	3. teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REQUEST: u call we deliver. How about Barnes one where 'reader/idk what to call it'never smiles&is always serious/sarcastic/sad in a way.Then he does or says smth&she smiles,but later he hears her cryin,cuz it was 1st time she felt good. Make it sad/cute.

“You know, kid, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your teeth,” Tony remarks as he de-suits, walking down the stairs towards the lounge area. You shrug, “I can bite you, if that’ll shut you up with these ‘why-don’t-you-smile’ comments, Stark.”

Ever since day one, you fit right in. Only because you had the sarcasm to rival Clint Barton and the moves to match Natasha. It took a while, a couple months of training with Cap and Nat, but you got into their missions once and a while. You also happened to have a really important science degree that Vision made sound like something way more intricate than what it was, so you tended to spend your off days in the lab with Bruce and Tony. It just so happened that while studying for said degree, a crazy lab incident happened and you can kind of control the elements around you – air, water, earth, etc. So, not only are you a genius agent, you’re also kind of deadly.

“Oh,” Tony rolls his eyes, straightening his sweat-glazed t-shirt as he walks to the bar. “I’m so scared.”

You scoff, tossing your head back, “You should be. I could pull the water right out of your blood system and you’d be done for.”

For some reason everyone always thought your humor was just dark, but one person knew differently. Maybe it was because his past was worse than yours, so you connected, or maybe it was that one night where you stayed up way to late and occupied the same amount of roof space together and spilled your hearts out. 

Since then, you haven’t spoken. Three months. 

“She’s got a point,” his voice comes from the hallway.

You nod at Bucky, thankful for the backup, although it feels awkward for him to be defending you, “I do. A very valid and scary one.”

“C’mon,” Natasha reels everyone in, “hit the showers, you all smell.  _ Really  _ bad.”

You take your time, you’ve got your own apartment now in the upper levels because you  _ begged  _ Tony to let you have a good view if he was going to try and keep you cooped up in the lab every other chance he got. While handing you the key card for the room, he liked to remind you that it was  _ your  _ choice to use your exciting science degree for a good cause. You just snatched the card from him and smiled, slamming the door on his toes. 

The shower washes the blood of your enemies – literally – off of your shoulders, but it can never wash the blood out of your memory.

_ Especially not their blood. _

It comes back to you in waves, flashbacks. You know it’s terrible, but sometimes you wish you’d been brainwashed and left to wonder what the memories were instead of replaying them every night. You’d gotten good at hiding your calloused heart into the sarcasm you pulled into the team. 

Before you know what is happening, tears are streaming down your face and the shower water pressure has doubled, sending harsh beads of liquid down your back. Instead of feeling the water, you feel the blood. You bathe in it every night, and every night it is the same. 

Guilt, sadness, disgust, hatred, loathing.

You want to just die sometimes thinking about how the explosion in the lab should have killed everyone, but not you. 

Stepping out of the shower and wiping the tears from your face, you see that your skin isn’t crimson and your head isn’t clear. It still hurts, it’s a throbbing pain that settles deep in your skull and rattles around every now and then. You hate it, but you’re glad it’s there because it reminds you how terrible you actually are. 

You can’t sleep, and Tony hasn’t bought a television for your room yet. So, you pour yourself a huge glass of milk and grab the whole package of oreos you’ve been hiding from Clint and stalk down to the living room area.

_ Bucky.  _

He has trouble sleeping too, you imagine. You just never imagined he’d be here.

“I thought you had a rooftop to climb or a plane to jack,” you manage to push past your lips as you sit down on the couch beside him, broad distance between you. 

“I think you’re thinking of somebody else,” he doesn’t look at you. You dunk a cookie in the milk and eat it, grabbing the remote off the glass table. 

“Well I wish I could climb walls,” you nod, turning on the television to see a program about enhanced humans, the Spider-Man making the top ten of the hour. 

“I can fly,” another voice comes from the bar. Tony.

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes and chomp down on the cookie, “We know. How could we forget.”

“Be careful, Icarus,” Bucky whispers in your ear, leaning over so you can hear him, “or you might just fly into a window.”

You can’t help the giggle that parts your lips, even if you try to raise your hand up to your mouth to conceal it. Bucky’s teal eyes light up and Tony’s head perks at the sound tumbling from your mouth.

“Oh, rookie,” he croons, a smirk tilting his mouth upwards, “you  _ do  _ have teeth.”


	4. get bent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REQUEST: These all sound super sexual, but the "Get Bent" one because I say it a lot :p Please and thank you!!

“ **_Get bent_ ** ,” your upper lip snarls as you grip the Playstation controller tighter. Your car goes over the finish line milliseconds before Bucky’s does. You toss your hands up in the air and cheer, “Ah, the crowd goes wild! I, the humble newbie, am so much more skilled than the one hundred year old man who has held the record in Mario Kart for three weeks prior to this date. Let it go down in history!”

 

Bucky scoffs, tossing his head back. His body slouches down in the couch as he defeatedly lets the controller hang from his grasp. You smirk triumphantly as your Princess Peach character does her little victory dance.

 

“You know, it might be a little bit more fun to play with you if you weren’t so arrogant,” Bucky mutters. He crosses his arms over his chest and cuts his eyes at you, the steeliness of the blue sending an electric shock through your body.

 

You lean over and hitch your legs across his lap, straddling his waist. A kiss is pressed to his nose and you see his cheeks warm at the gesture. “Oh, but I just  _ love _ stepping on your ego, Buchanan.”

 

“Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart,” he responds with a fondness in his teal eyes that is reserved for you. 

 

A blush covers your cheeks and bashfully your eyelashes bat up and down, “I could be all kinds of cheesy right now,” you tell him, nuzzling against his cheek with your own. You feel the corner of his lip curve against your skin and you know he’s smiling, “Oh could you?”

 

“Mhmm,” you hum as you pull your head back to look him in the eyes, foreheads rested against one another. Bucky nudges his nose against yours and the weight of his hands is now present against your lower back. “I could tell you about how you’re the only thing that makes me happy,” you murmur as your lips ghost over his, a tenseness in the air that wasn’t there before.

 

Gently, Bucky tilts his head back so he can snort, “Oh, I know that’s not true. Pizza makes you happy. Books make you happy. The stars make you happy.”

 

“Hush,” you affectionately bump your forehead to his shoulder before returning to sit upright and look down at him. Habitually your fingers intertwine in his hair, combing through the lengthy locks. “I’m happiest when I get to do the things I enjoy with you, you big lug.”

  
Bucky grins, the gentle dips of dimples in his cheeks showing themselves. “I love you too, angel.”


	5. undeserving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REQUEST: You just joined the team, and a certain someone with a metal arm has a crush on you. Steve urges him to speak to you instead of just watching from afar, and something beautifully awkward unfolds.

"You know,” Steve nudges his arm, “you could always just go talk to her.”

Bucky breaks himself away from looking at you across the room to sardonically look at his best friend, “You know, you could actually touch my _human_ arm, that way I actually feel you attempting to be my wing man.”

An embarrassed chuckle topples from Steve’s lips and he wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, “I’m serious, though.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Nah, Steve. There’s no point in it.”

Instead of looking at his friend, Bucky is focused on you as you pace around in the training room. You weren’t new to the team, necessarily, but you weren’t to the point where you were going on missions yet. Bucky is kind of thankful for that, though, because the last thing he needed to do is get distracted trying to save your life or stare at your legs in that lovely suit of yours. 

Part of the reason he thinks he’s so drawn to you is because you have similar stories. 

Torture, brainwashing, the likes. 

_Steve found you in a HYDRA base, lifeless and limp on an examining table a year prior to now. Without any further information about you, and out of the goodness of his perfect heart, he forcibly pushed past Tony Stark to deliver you to the quinjet himself._

_When you awoke screaming, you were surprised to be in a white-washed room with technology whirring all around you. Thankfully there weren’t any strings attached to your arms like there usually were, but something about the entire place seemed different._

_The walls weren’t splattered with blood, there wasn’t a needle stabbed into your elbow, and there wasn’t anyone who spoke German looming over you._

_It was oddly comforting, although alarming._

_“Where am I?” your voice was hoarse.  
_

_A stark voice comes from the other side of what you suspect to be a mirrored window, “Ah, you’re awake. Great. Let me go get the old man.”_

And since then, Steve held you under his wing. Perhaps it’s because you reminded him of Bucky, or perhaps it’s just the fact that he’s a wonderful, genuine person. Either way, you appreciated it. He was the only one you’d open up to, though, and you made him swear he’d never tell anyone what they did to you in that laboratory. 

The only thing anyone needed to know was that your bones had been coated with a metal that seemed to be indestructible which resulted in your increase in strength, and you could control metal with a wave of your hand.

“I think you two might have a lot more in common than you think,” Steve settled back with his arms across his broad chest. 

Bucky huffs, “She could rip my arm off if we ever got into an argument.” 

A grunting laugh comes from deep in Steve’s chest, “That’s true. Guess you better not make her mad.”

Buck rolls his eyes and mirrors Steve’s position, his shoulder dug into the side of the wall he’s leant against. He watches you for a moment, sparring with three of Tony’s robots designed for combat training. Buck is sure it’s hard for you not to just crush them with a motion of your fingers, but this exercise is all about the actual fist-fighting of the job. Tony refuses to let you go into combat until you actually know how to throw a punch.

He claims that not every HYDRA agent has had a hip replacement, so you better be prepared.

“She doesn’t need me in her life,” Bucky admits after a few moments of silence. 

Steve can’t help but look over at his friend, watch as his jawline becomes sharper and his eyes harden. He reaches out and puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, but the brunette shakes him off. 

“No, Steve,” he huffs sarcastically, dejected, “you don’t get to do this to me. I’m a terror, and I fight demons daily. _You_ don’t even know the extent of them. And it’s been a year since everything that happened and we got things straightened out finally. I’m not going to go forward with this.”

“Buck.”

Teal eyes meet and Steve sighs, “You can’t be alone forever.”

“I’m not.”

It’s true, Bucky thinks. He’s not alone. He’s accompanied by all the darkness that surrounds him.

You don’t need him in your life, he shouldn’t even be alive. He should’ve let them kill him after they found him in hiding. He should’ve let Tony blast him into one million pieces after watching the tape of Buck killing his parents twenty years ago. 

He should be dead. Deserves to be.

A loud blasting sound breaks him out of his sad searching, and he watches your lean muscles bend and contract, you trying to control the very metal that courses through your bones. 

After a few more minutes of training, the vein on your forehead that pulses when you’re frustrated shows itself and Bucky knows what’s going to happen next. 

“Close your ears,” he mumbles, picking his hands up to press over the sides of his head. Steve looks at him quizzically, but he winces whenever your screech can be heard from inside the training room. 

When the metal falls to the floor and you’re left floating in the middle of the room, scattered shards of titanium all around you, Bucky can’t help but be impressed and intimidated. 

You flick a stray piece of metal off your shoulder and then allow yourself to float over the wreckage until you reach the door. 

“Here’s your chance,” Steve pushes Bucky, making sure to touch his flesh arm when he does so, before escaping to the elevator.

“Woah,” you snap, reaching out and grasping onto the body that slammed into you. “You’re heavy for an old man.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Stark,” Bucky mumbles as he rights himself, standing straight. He’s worried if you keep touching him that you might do something to him. 

You shrug, “He’s not as bad as the other fossil makes him out to be.”

Bucky laughs, genuinely laughs, and his eyes squint in a way you didn’t think could be described as _cute_ on the terrible Winter Soldier. A smile makes its way onto your lips as well and you cross your arms in front of your chest as you admire him.

“I watched you train,” he nods towards the room you just exited. 

_Get out, get out, get out, Buck. She doesn’t need this._

You nod, watching as FRIDAY orders around the cleaning bots to remove your mess from the room so Wanda can train for a little while. A sad smile graces your lips and you look at your feet, “Then I’m not sure why you aren’t one thousand miles away from me right now, Bionicle Bicep.”

_She doesn’t need you. Leave her alone._

A snort flares Bucky’s nostrils, “I was kind of hoping you’d think I was cute enough not to crush.”

_What are you doing, Barnes?!_

You can’t help it – you blush. 

You didn’t mean to, but you do think he’s rather attractive. Who wouldn’t? Dark hair, bright eyes, and muscles popping out of whatever he wears. 

You also can’t help the fact that your feet start levitating about four inches off the ground.

Bucky seems to notice and a red tinge crosses his cheeks as well. “Honestly, Steve shoved me at you, telling me I needed more friends than just him.” You nudge your elbow into his arm, the metal one, but he doesn’t jump, just is jostled a bit from the strength of the push. 

“I could use some friends too.”

_I’m done for._

Bucky smiles, his teeth hidden behind full, pink lips, and opens up his flesh arm into a triangle, inviting your hand to curl around the bend of his elbow. You take him up on the offer and together you walk downstairs into the kitchen. 

You’re laughing, pushing against one another, and Bucky doesn’t seem to even remember that you have control of literally everything metallic in the room. In fact, you’ve almost forgotten the damage you can do. 

“I think we’re going to go on a grocery run,” you mention, watching a Buck slides on his ball cap. You shrug on a jacket and Captain looks over at you, “You want me to tag along?”

Buck glances at you while you aren’t looking and then back to Steve, shaking his head, “Nah, I think we’ll be okay.”

You laugh, tying your hair back, “Yeah, I mean, a super soldier and an indestructible lightning rod. We can handle ourselves. Thanks but no thanks, pops.”

Steve just rolls his eyes, but winks at Buck as you two make your way out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have really enjoyed writing Bucky x Reader things! One thing I do try to do is not use Y/N... Like, ever. So, if that's what turns you off from reading Reader fics, this won't be a problem! 
> 
> If you have any requests, feel free to leave them in the comments or head on over to my tumblr at sargantbuck!


	6. history in the making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turns out bucky is quite the history buff. maybe it's because he was there.

“I swear,” you groan, tilting your head back, “if I have to quote another General, I’m going to vomit.”

 

Nat snorts, “Not on my new sofa, you’re not.”

 

You sigh, crossing your arms as your laptop shifts around on the tops of your thighs. The figure of Abraham Lincoln on the history book you haven’t been able to put down for three days straight is glaring at you like a little patriotic demon. He’s there to remind you of the papers you have yet to write. 

 

“I can’t believe Steve benched me,” your voice is sour as you curl your lip. Natasha tosses a napkin with her coffee stain on it at your face and it hits you directly between the eyes, “You didn’t do your homework. Good agents do their homework.”

 

Your eyes roll around in their sockets and then you look her direction to stare her down, “Nat, you’re my Godmother, not my real mom. Hate to break it to you, but you can’t guilt-trip me into doing my homework.”

 

The cell phone you bought six months is snatched out of your lap and before you can reach your fingers towards it, it’s been pulled from your grasp by perfectly manicured nails. You groan, curling your toes in frustration, “Seriously?! I just figured out how to work Snapchat.”

 

“Snap-what?” another voice enters the room.

 

Sighing, you look his way, “Snap _ chat _ , Buck. The picture thing. We were dogs the other day, remember?”

 

Bucky chuckles as he pulls a chair out, “Yeah, I remember. Why did Nat take your phone?”

 

“History class is kicking my butt,” you explain shamefully, a blush painting your cheeks. Bucky kicks the back of the couch to get your attention, “I could help you, if you wanted?”

 

Natasha snorts from where she’s sat on top of the kitchen countertop. She points at Bucky, “You probably won’t give her the version of history that those crackpots at the university are trying to sell her. They still haven’t figured out the Kennedy conspiracy.”

 

“And they won’t,” Bucky points at her, narrowing his eyes. “But anyways. History was my best subject back in school.”

 

You reach behind the couch and grab his pant leg, yanking on it, “Buck, that was literally almost a century ago.”

 

He kicks his toes at you and you release his pants, “Hey, it was seventy-five years. Give an old man a break.” He steps away from his chair and squats behind the couch you’re on so he can look over your shoulder. “Nat, I literally  _ served  _ in the second world war, and you think I don’t know anything about it?”

 

“You might not know what she needs to know,” Natasha nods her head. She snatches an apple out of the fruit basket on the counter and takes a bit out of it, “But I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

 

It’s been kind of strange since you were recruited by Scott Lang to help out the Avengers two years ago. You were in your freshman year of college and hacking for fun when your screen went black. A message was posted on your computer and you went to the address and ever since then you’ve been working alongside Captain America and the Falcon and Wanda Maximoff. It’s been surreal.

 

The biggest shock was when you found out that your Godmother Natasha was actually a secret agent and not a traveling pharmaceutical representative.

 

Then they brought in Bucky and you two clicked instantly.

 

“I just need to explain why people listened to what Hitler had to say,” you tell him, laying your head back against the arm rest so you can look at Bucky. He puts his chin on your forehead and reads over what you’ve written so far, his blue eyes zeroed in on the words across the screen.

 

“Why don’t you write for a living?” he mumbles as he skims over the last paragraph. “You’re so eloquent it’s annoying. Are you the one who writes up Steve’s mission reports?”

 

You snort, picking your head up so his falls away, “Maybe, but don’t tell anyone.”

 

“I think you have the concept, you just have to pull in a couple other sources that link the way humans think with the way Hitler spoke to masses. He was persuasive, you know that,” he points at a specific paragraph you wrote using that thought process, “so just go from there. What did he offer the people that made them believe him and listen?”

 

The next hour is used between the two of you to write the most solid paper you think you’ve ever written. He supplies you with a few historical hints that you never would’ve learned from your history book. Apparently Hydra tried to recruit Hitler but he refused. He also told you what it was like during the war.

 

“I’m sure if I was desperate enough I could have been told some of those things and I would’ve just fell in line for the man,” Bucky admits, shrugging his shoulders. His lower lip pouts out just a bit and you resist the strange urge to reach up and poke it. You shake your head, “I don’t think so, Buck.”

 

His right eyebrow shoots up and his focus turns to you, “Why do you say that?”

 

“You’re too stubborn,” you smile. You can feel your gaze softening the longer you look at him. It’s obvious, you’re sure, that he holds a special place in your heart. He lets his head fall as if he were ashamed of himself but you’re quick to reassure him.

 

“It’s not bad.” You sit up straight and turn to look at him, reaching out and touching his knee. “I think it’s your best quality. I’m sure you could see through the lies he was selling and go far enough to figure out what he was actually doing. He was manipulating people. You’re too strong-willed for that.”

 

“Oh really,” his head quirks to the side just a bit, “are you sure you’re talking to the right guy?”

 

You nod without hesitation, “I know I am. Just because what happened was manipulation doesn’t mean you had any say in it. You know what I believe.”

 

“I know,” he smiles gently, covering your hand with his own. “I’m just messing around. Thank you.”

 

Your shoulders bob up and down and you avoid his gaze because it’s way too gentle. Biting your lip, you focus on your hands in your lap. “You’re welcome.”

 

“C’mon,” he grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet, “I think I can show you another piece of history.”

 

You slip on your shoes and follow him as he grabs his cap off of the counter near the exit. “What would that be?” you question, shrugging on a jacket to keep yourself warm in the New York chill of October. 

 

“The best diner since 1932,” he smirks, looking at you from underneath his hat.

 

His hand slips into yours and the grasp he holds on you marks the start of your very own history in the making.


	7. absent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompts:   
> "Please...stay..."  
> "If you really love me, you'll let me go."

You are cold, that much you know for sure. 

Your hair is still dripping from the burning shower you took over a half hour ago and your skin is slick against the tile floor of the bathroom. You can’t stop the shaking in your fingertips and the thunderous thoughts stamping out the light in your head. 

The tears ran out about ten minutes ago, adding to the wetness on your face. You stare at the mirror and fantasize for a moment about what you want most.

His arms around you, lifting you up. The dusting of stubble against the sharp jaw touching your cheek in a tickling way. His sturdy frame offering some kind of solace from the black demons painting the inside of your skull. A voice so low and slow and intense that it could only belong to him. 

Instead, you remember how things were left.

_ “I can’t believe that Steve is going to let you do this,” your voice is tense, the bun of hair bobbing on top of your head. Your arms involuntarily cross over your chest, teeth grinding together in frustration. “I can’t believe you didn’t  _ ask  _ me about this before jumping in headfirst! Are you  _ that  _ dense?!” _

_ His blue eyes widen the slightest in shock, but over the past two years you’ve learned to watch for his minuscule mannerisms. The thick arms you’re used to comforting you are now flexed as he turns his hands to fists at his sides. _

_ “I didn’t ask for Steve’s  _ permission,  _ I didn’t  _ need _ to. And Nat  _ understands _.” Bucky’s lower lip shakes imperceptibly. “They’ll be going with me. I’ll be safe.” _

_ You dig your fingernails into your biceps to keep from reaching out and touching his jawline. “Bucky,” your tone is pleading and you can practically feel your irises melting the longer you look at him, “I don’t like this.” _

_ At the sudden shift in tone, his feet shuffle toward you. As your head drops so you can hide the unshed tears of unease, Bucky’s arms circle around your shoulders. Your forehead is pressed into his chest and you can’t find it in yourself to drag your own hands to touch him. You feel defeated, as if this is a ghost of the man who is about to go to war, as if the end has already come and he isn’t really here.  _

_ “I know you don’t understand, darling,” his voice is gruff above you, “but I have to do this.” _

_ Instantly you rear back from him, your head cocked to the side in confusion. You raise a questioning brow, “You think I don’t  _ understand _? Is that it, Buck?” Your body is rigid and Bucky stands in abashment two feet away. _

_ “You think I don’t understand what it’s like to want to go after the people who did this to you?” You can’t help the sarcastic snort that tosses your head back in the slightest. “You think it doesn’t keep me up at night that I want to go back and slaughter every last one of them before they can pop that goddamn acid pill in their mouths? Hydra infected my parents and they killed my aunt, leaving me alone. You think I don’t understand what it feels like to want every opportunity to cut them open like they did to Aunt Alice?!” _

_ By now you’re panting, your chest huffing up and down with the anger pent up in your system. You have not another word for him, other than these: “How  _ arrogant  _ of you to think I don’t understand.” _

_ “They’re gonna come for you!” he shouts, his hands flying out by his sides in unthoughtful bluster. You can see the redness in his cheeks, crawling up from his neck. “Every day that I’m alive, every day that they know they can get to me, they’re going to find you. And I don’t know what kind of shit they’ll put you through. So, excuse me if I want to keep you safe!” _

_ You’d never thought of it that way. _

_ Maybe Bucky isn’t doing this for himself, like you thought. Maybe he’s doing it for you. Just as you would do it for him.  _

_ A sigh escapes his lips, deflating his chest. The temperature in the room drops and suddenly you’re cold standing so far away from him, fierce words still hanging in the air that neither of you meant to use to hurt one another.  _

_ “ _ **_IF YOU LOVE ME, YOU’LL LET ME GO,”_ ** _ he tells you, his eyes honest but cloudy. _

_ “Bullshit,” you spat, the heat once more sparked in your eyes even though your voice is soft. You’re injured. It feels like someone just drove a knife through your heart. “If I  _ didn’t  _ love you, I wouldn’t think twice about letting you go.” _

_ Your lower lip trembles, “Instead, here I am, imagining the thousands of ways they could figure out how to kill you. Or worse,” the tears are back now, “how they could take you back. Take you away from me.” _

_ Even though you despise crying in front of Bucky, you gaze at him in almost a glare, “They can come for me, Buck. I don’t care. But the day they come for you?” A smirk upturns your lips in a sadistic way that sends a chill down Bucky’s spine as one singular tear tracks down your right cheek. You nod in affirmation, “God help them.” _

_ You crumble at the thought of wrapping your fingers around their necks, choking the life out of them because they took him - the one good thing in your life - and stole him away from you. Heart shattering sobs rack your body and Bucky isn’t but a millisecond behind as he catches you upon your descent. _

_ Arms entangle in desperation as you both leak tears of dread. Yours land on Bucky’s new uniform and his are trapped on the sweatshirt he let you steal six months ago. The fingertips that belong to you dig into his shoulders without concern, anchoring him to you like you have an ability to do so.  _

_ “ _ **_PLEASE,_ ** _ ” you whimper into his neck, the heat from your breath suffocating you, “ _ **_STAY_ ** _.” _

_ A kiss is pressed to your head and you know what the answer is. You knew what it was before you even had this conversation because in this aspect of life, you and Bucky are the same. There’s a darkness in both of you that doesn’t just go away from falling in love. Some might argue that the darkness is magnified, scooping up more of your soul because you’ll do  _ whatever  _ it takes to keep one another safe. _

_ “You know I can’t,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear. _

_ “You’re gonna get yourself killed,” you cry into him, punching his chest in a futile way. Your hit doesn’t even hurt your own knuckles. The only pain is laid up in your heart, in the thought that maybe you’ll have to see him in a bag the next time you’re reacquainted. “Of all the asinine, absurd, sophomoric, half-witted, idiot, fatuous,  _ stupid  _ things for you to do!”  _

_ With every word is another thud of your curled up fists against his body. Bucky reaches out and cradles your face in his hands as you cry more and more. _

_ “Angel,” he calls for you and that soft tone brings you back down to earth like it always has. His flesh fingers wipe at the tears painting your cheeks. That beautiful smile that shows his teeth and stretches his lips so his eyes crinkle takes over his features and all of your anger is gone. What if you never get to see that smile again? _

_ “Promise me,” you poke your finger into his chest before bringing the tip of your finger up to meet his lips. He’s resisting a laugh at your ridiculous expression and the ebb of the emotional conflict from earlier. “Promise me you’ll come home.” _

_ Bucky nods, brushing your hair out of your eyes. He smiles and opens his lips long enough to bite at the end of your finger. You try not to giggle at his action but instead a thick laugh bubbles from your mouth. _

_ “I’ll come home and we’ll do whatever you want,” he tells you, his voice nothing if not sure. Your fingers gently splay against the skin of his cheeks and you’re distracted in trying to memorize his every feature. You nod, “You’re going to Russia, right?” _

_ Bucky responds with a nod and he wants to look into your eyes but you’re otherwise preoccupied with the curve of his cheekbones and the dip of his jaw. You bite your lip while you touch over his stubble, “Then I want you to bring me back some of those fruit jelly things and that gingerbread from Tula.” _

_ “You mean пастила?” he asks with a gentle smirk. _

_ Nodding your head, you roll your eyes and press your palms fully to his cheeks, “Whatever the hell it’s called, just bring me some back.” _

That was seven months ago.

And now here you are, sitting on the cold tile floor of your bathroom, unable to cry anymore because you’ve used up all your tears. 

“Hey,” there’s a soft voice about ten feet away from your bedroom door. You shake your head, uncaring that you’re still naked on the bathroom floor. Natasha comes in anyways.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, but me staying behind was the best thing,” she tells you. Her hand reaches out to touch your shoulder but she feels your muscles tense up underneath her so she pulls away. “The less, the better. That’s what they both thought.”

“Yeah, and I guess radio silence was a good thought too?” you snap back at her, looking over your shoulder. Natasha’s never seen your eyes so dull. She softens her features to try and get through to you, “You and I both know that was what they needed. Hydra has all the tech they need to pick up a radio signal. We don’t want them getting captured.”

After a few more moments she reaches out to hold you by the shoulders and stand you up, “C’mon, let’s get you dressed.”

She slips you into that sweatshirt that still smells like Bucky and a pair of his athletic shorts that got too small after he bulked up. It’s almost more overwhelming to smell him everywhere than it is to know he isn’t here.

“Vision made dinner,” she tells you, grasping your hand gently. At the look of disbelief you shoot her, she smiles and adds, “Wanda helped.”

You muster up a grin and walk with her to the kitchen where you smell something that makes your stomach gurgle. Tony is setting the table and Vision and Wanda are getting everything ready. It’s strange to see everyone working together, even Clint is preparing the drinks.

“What’s this for?” you ask, recognizing your favorite side dish somewhere on the table. They’re also serving your favorite drink that Thor can whip up so they don’t get it very often. The main part of the meal is something you’d been requesting for months before Bucky and Steve shipped off.

Tony shrugs, “Something like a Welcome Back dinner.”

You rolls your eyes, “Tony, I didn’t die.”

“No, but you did stuff yourself up in your room for two months,” he quips, putting a drink in front of a place that looks like you’re supposed to sit down at. Tony and Nat pass a knowing look back and forth and you fear the worst, the pit of despair taking root in your belly. “Is this what I think it is? Are you trying to butter me up because you have bad news?”

When they don’t deny it, your face drops. You can quite literally  _ feel  _ the color draining from your cheeks. Tears surface where you were sure there were none left and your lower lip trembles.

“You guys are a bunch of shit bags,” you mumble, swiping under your nose. “Instead of just getting brave and telling me what happened, you’ve got to hide behind food and Thor’s alcohol!”

“Shit bags?” the door slams closed, “Angel, that’s harsh.”

It’s as if the moment is in slow motion.

You turn around and he’s  _ there _ .

And then he’s toppling backwards.

You run to him, not thinking twice of the bruise under his eye or the way he’s wincing while standing up. You jump and just like any other time, he catches you. His arms are around you and you can’t stop your lips from decorating his face with kisses. Bucky tastes like blood and sweat and something so distinctly  _ Bucky  _ that you forget the past seven months were even happening.

“I missed you,” he breathes as you kiss over his cheeks.

Settling back, your hands are on his face, “I thought you died.”

Bucky chuckles while shaking his head. His grip on your thighs tighten as his body shudders just a little. “I wasn’t allowed to die,” he smiles, “I promised you пастила and Tula gingerbread.”

You reach your arms back around his neck and you hold onto him tightly, worried that if you don’t do so he may float away. Bucky’s hands dig into your back the same way yours did to him when he was meant to leave. You’re one body now instead of two, and everyone knows it. Steve walks away with Natasha blustering over his aching form but you could care less because Bucky is  _ here  _ and he’s not dead.

“We did it,” Bucky murmurs as he readjusts your hips against his abdomen. He smiles in a way that the sunshine should be jealous, “They’re gone. The book is gone. Everything is gone.”

The tears that spill over your eyelids are not of your own control and neither are your lips when they crash forward to meet him on the mouth.

“But I’m still here,” he whispers. “And so are you.”


End file.
